


The Conscience of the King

by iqom



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Aborted Undertale Genocide Run, Angst, Attempted Undertale Genocide Run, Character Death, Undertale Genocide Route, discussing Chara, like literally everyone's dead y'all know how genocide works
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-14 00:41:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13582371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iqom/pseuds/iqom
Summary: Genocide player ragequits at Sans and probably isn't coming back. Sans and King Asgore are the only monsters left.Asgore waters his flowerbeds.





	The Conscience of the King

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GoldenCharm888](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenCharm888/gifts).



> Another (terribly late) Secret Santa submission! I was a 'backup santa', so as my recipient's gifter dropped out, I took their place!  
> The prompt was as follows:  
> "I would like a fanfiction on an AU in which Asgore survives the Genocide Run, and is aware of Chara's doings because of Sans telling him after Chara finally quits (Or ragequits?). Asgore feels guilty about raising a murderer and wonders what he has done wrong as he waters his flowers. (Bonus points if he begins to think that Chara was the one that provoked Asriel's death in the first place!)"  
> I hope you enjoy, goldencharm888! :) Happy excruciatingly late holidays.

Six fat petals, veiny and opaque. The water droplets resting on top glistened like diamonds.

Asgore, King of the Underground, felt the handle of his watering can disintegrate in the strength of his iron fist, sending the can plunging to the ground. Water sloshed around his bare paws and soaked the hem of his cape.

He stared at those petals until they dropped out of focus.

Asgore knew everything was wrong. It remained a matter of waiting for the news.

The great stone doors of the throne room creaked open behind him.

“Would you like a cup of tea, Sans?”

Asgore didn’t have to turn to know the identity of his visitor. Sans carried a sort of aura about him; old, powerful magic that the king could recognize and yet could not understand for himself.

Sans was wise beyond his years.

“You know I don’t drink that stuff.”

Asgore was aware Sans didn’t drink _that stuff._

“Just trying to be polite,” Asgore responded half-heartedly, turning finally to face his guest. _Boy_ , did Sans look beat up. Weathered. Like he’d gone through a taxing trial in a thousand different timelines.

Sans looked into Asgore’s eyes knowingly, his burning blue eye piercing the King’s heart like molten ice.

“They’re gone,” Sans said simply.

Asgore heaved a long sigh through his great snout, a heavy sigh, a sigh that corroded the very fiber of his being as it fell through his colossal body.

“Alphys and Mettaton?”

“Alphys fled. She evacuated as many as she could. Mettaton… stayed behind.”

“Undyne?”

“Stayed behind.”

“Papyrus?”

Sans was silent.

“Toriel?”

Asgore knew the answer. Her soul had brushed past him on her way out. His worst nightmare confirmed, he felt the pain of losing the other half of his heart again; threefold, fivefold, sevenfold, until he collapsed to his knees under its immense pressure.

“Who… who did this?” Asgore rumbled. His paws formed fists around the blades of grass like they were strands of hair on the head of  _whoever_ would do this, whoever would commit such indiscriminate and seemingly thoughtless genocide…

“Chara.”

He tore the grass from the ground. “Leave me.”

“As you wish, Your Majesty.”

* * *

 

It took Asgore almost exactly an hour to recover.

The handle of his watering can was dust, so Asgore settled on scooping up the barrel and dipping a paw into the remaining water, shaking the droplets over his thirsty golden flowerbeds.

The half-sentient heads turned towards him happily. They were innocent, peaceful.

Asgore smiled down at them. He dipped his paw and rattled it over them again, taking care to splash their leaves and stems.

Mistakes had been made, it seemed. Grave mistakes. He knew not to trust humans; how could he have been so stupid?

But the child in their striped shirt, wiping the grimy tears from their eyes, blood beading on their forehead from their fall… his heart had melted as he regarded the helpless creature.

They had a taste for chocolate and sitting on his lap. He tucked them into bed with Asriel and read aloud to his children (truly, _his children_ ; Chara had equal standing to Asriel in Asgore’s heart); stories of pirates, cowboys, musketeers, desert adventurers and space travelers.

The flowers at his feet stood tall, feeling satiated, beaming up at Asgore. He dipped his paw again.

And what of Asriel’s death? Why had he grown so attached to the human? He shouldn’t have let that happen; as the King who knew better, _as_ _a father who should have cared more._

He had been blinded by his own adoration. Never again, he had vowed.

The flowers swayed frantically from side to side as Asgore covered them once again in a heavy shower of water. The bed flooded, the soil turning to sticky mud, and their tiny bodies grew soggy and overencumbered.

Asgore was _done_ with humans. It seemed that Chara had not been done with him yet.

When they had fought, they fought bitterly. All parents fought with their children, but Chara’s words were always like daggers, cutting deep into Asgore’s soul and gutting his conscience.

Eventually, Asgore let Chara have whatever they wanted.

It seemed Chara wanted more than Asgore could have ever given them. They wanted blood spilled and dust thrown to the wind. And who was to stop them?

Toriel didn’t.

Papyrus didn’t. Undyne didn’t. Muffet didn’t. Mettaton didn’t.

Sans did. For now. But what did it matter, anyway? If Chara were to ever get through Sans, the only monster left in New Home would be…

He had tried to save them from the tyranny of humans. He let his guard down _once._

He failed them.

Asgore turned the can upside-down over the bed and watched his flowers drown.


End file.
